


one man's dead pigeon is one woman's excuse to cast a very annoying curse

by fnowae



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Crack, Crack Fic, I can GUARANTEE that this is crack, I suppose but not really, Light Angst, M/M, Patrick is fucking. part bird idk it's wild, Wingfic, Wings, it might starts out not THAT weird but...wait for it, sigh. this is fucking WEIRD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 16:09:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11672535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fnowae/pseuds/fnowae
Summary: "Do you have no feelings for that life you've just ended?" The woman knits her eyebrows together, glowering."It was a pigeon..." Patrick says slowly, and it turns out to be exactly the wrong thing to say.What it says on the tin.





	one man's dead pigeon is one woman's excuse to cast a very annoying curse

**Author's Note:**

> What happens when you mix the very very first concept of your most developed AU ever (pick your posion) with a ripoff of a sort-of OC from your weirdest AU ever (Blue from dark and stormy night) and then add a thought you had upon awaking at midnight ("run over pigeon get cursed bitch")? You get this. 
> 
> This is fucking WEIRD. It's weird. That's not up for debate. Just a warning. 
> 
> Sigh. 
> 
> Have fun, kids

Sometimes, the littlest things can end up having the biggest impacts, no matter how boring and unimportant they seem. 

Patrick learns this the hard way when he accidentally runs over a rather unintelligent pigeon on his way home one day. 

He hadn't even realized that was what had happened at first. All he knows is his car had run over something, and if this shitty car broke down again he was going to strangle the next person he saw. 

But when Patrick gets stops the car - he's on a side road, no one is around to be bothered by him blocking up the road - he just sees that he's run over a pigeon, which really isn't his fault, because how was he supposed to see that?

Patrick turns to get back in his car, but suddenly there's an old woman in front of him. Her hair is frizzed and gray and she's wearing a deep black cloak. 

"What do you think you're doing?" she asks, her aged voice cracking with every other syllable she speaks. 

"Uh...getting in my car?" Patrick responds, too confused about where this lady came from to realize how rude his tone turns. 

"So you really don't care about that poor bird you've just _murdered_?" the woman asks dramatically, actually clapping a hand over her heart.

"It walked in front of my car," Patrick says, confused, and suddenly finding himself getting defensive. "People run over birds all the time. Not my fault I didn't see it."

"Do you have no feelings for that life you've just ended?" The woman knits her eyebrows together, glowering. 

"It was a pigeon..." Patrick says slowly, and it turns out to be exactly the wrong thing to say. 

"How dare you!" gasps the woman. She raises a hand into the air and screams, "I put a curse upon you, for the mindless slaughtering of an innocent soul!"

Yeah, so this lady is just insane. Patrick sighs. "Okay. That's great. I have to go."

"You'll regret this!" the lady tells him, wagging a finger, spinning on her heel, and walking off. 

Patrick has had a lot of weird encounters with strangers before, but an old woman saying she was cursing him for accidentally running over a pigeon had to be the weirdest ever. 

Still confused, and a little shaken, Patrick climbs back into his car and drives the final five minutes home. He parks, heads in, and hangs up his coat with a heavy sigh. Some days just seem to want to test his limits. And this was one of them. 

But as weird and annoying as the old woman had seemed, Patrick is in no way prepared for what comes next. 

///

He wakes up already feeling pissed at the world - he's still puzzling over the weird old lady from yesterday, he thinks he's starting to get a cold, and on top of that, his back fucking hurts. 

"Fuck, I'm getting old," he complains to no one as he forces himself out of bed. If nothing else, he has a date today, and he hopes that it will make this day at least a little bit better. 

Patrick stumbles tiredly into the bathroom, regretting letting Joe talk him into a date so early in the morning. He loves the guy, really, but come on! A date at fucking ten? How is he supposed to even be awake by then?

Patrick sleepily glances up to his reflection in the mirror, and suddenly he is _very_ awake. 

Actually, no, no, he's still asleep, he _must_ still be asleep, because if he's really awake right now, there is actually a very large pair of speckled brown wings sprouting from his back. 

Patrick stares at his reflection for what must be over a minute, trying to get his mind to accept the image as reality. It's not working. 

He reaches back with one hand and brushes it along the edge of one of the wings. The feathers are light and soft. He shudders. 

This is when he remembers to freak out. 

He tries to scream, but it doesn't help that what comes out of his mouth instead is a very loud squawk. He claps a hand over his mouth and hisses out, "What the fuck", which, thankfully, comes out as actual words and not just a very loud bird nose. 

Patrick tries to tamp down on his stream of thoughts that currently goes a lot like _what the fuck is going on what the fuck is going on what the fuck is going on_ , but it's not all that successful. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, then starts to try and process. 

The first thing that pops into his head is the old woman and her curse and - is it possible that she had actually cursed him?

Oh, of fucking course it's possible. He has wings, for fuck's sake!

Patrick tries to put this revelation into perspective. So...an old woman had appeared and cursed him for running over a pigeon...by, what, turning him into some kind of...bird person?

It almost makes sense, if he squints, takes off his glasses, imagines he's on drugs, and looks at it from twenty feet away. 

"Holy shit, when did this become my life?" he asks no one in particular, except for his reflection, which still, contrary to all logic, has wings. 

Patrick decides to adopt his favorite moral: "If I pretend it isn't happening, I don't have to deal with it." However, this plan is kind of shattered when he remembers he still has a date to go to - in only half an hour, now. And it's a fifteen minute drive. 

Patrick is suddenly spurred into action, his shock smashed by the realization that if he doesn't figure something out fast, he's going to have to cancel on his poor boyfriend. And they've been trying to get together _forever_ , but things just keep coming up. 

As ridiculous as this is, Patrick just sees it as another thing that's trying to prevent him from seeing his boyfriend, in which case he is determined to figure out a way around it at all costs. 

The solution presents itself pretty quickly - he uses a small sheet to tie up the wings, folding them up as small as they'll go and securing them into place. He slips a t-shirt on over that, but there's still a slightly visible bulge where the wings are, so he puts a puffy coat on over it. 

Perfect. He can't even tell that the wings are there. 

Well, except for the fact that he can feel how tightly wrapped they are, and the uncomfortable sense of it is akin to the trapped feeling of accidentally cocooning yourself in a blanket and being unable to move your arms - but that doesn't count. He can barely tell!

Patrick hustles himself out of the house and into his car, because he's going to be late if he doesn't leave now. He desperately wants to freak out and scream, but he doesn't have time. Besides, when he reminds himself what happened when he screamed before, he doesn't feel like doing it anymore. 

He spends the whole drive watching out for more road pigeons and driving carefully (read: slowly) enough for other drivers to honk at him. If the old woman really wanted to stop him from running over pigeons, this certainly did the trick. 

Patrick shows up to the coffee place Joe had chosen at ten on the dot, relieved that he isn't late. He slides out of his car and heads in, opening the door to find his boyfriend waiting at a table near the entrance, already armed with a cup of Patrick's favorite coffee. 

"Aw, thank you, babe," Patrick says as he approaches, picking up the coffee as he sits down. He keeps his voice low, unstoppably afraid that if he raises it just a notch too high, he'll suddenly be squawking again. 

Joe grins as he sits down, speaking much louder than Patrick had - which, to be fair, is just normal volume. "No problem! I'm so glad we could finally get together."

"I know," Patrick agrees, still talking softly. "I missed you."

"Missed you too," Joe says, nodding and sipping his own coffee. "Anything new with you?"

"Not really. You?" Patrick answers, which is a lot easier than saying "well, yeah, actually, I think I got cursed yesterday and when I woke up this morning I was some kind of bird person". 

"Got a new apartment," Joe says, not picking up on how strained Patrick's answer had been. "You should come over sometime."

"I'll try," Patrick promises, making a mental note not to, for the simple reason that Joe simply comes over to Patrick's house so often that "come over to my apartment" has become code for something else entirely. Something that Patrick is pretty sure won't help with his whole "hide those fucking wings" plan. 

He takes a sip of his coffee, which is amazing. He's glad Joe has memorized his order. In his opinion, knowing his coffee order is basically the number one quality of a good boyfriend. Sure, personality and looks are nice, but memorize his coffee order and you can consider yourself married. 

"Did you go see that movie you wanted to see?" Joe asks, which is vague, because Patrick has texted him about wanting to see at least twenty different movies since their last date. 

"Yeah," he says, making an effort not to complicate things. 

"That's good." Joe frowns. "Are you okay? You're talking kinda quiet. Are you sick?"

Patrick gets flustered for a moment, unsure how to give an answer that doesn't involve "fucking bird person". He ends up with, "Uh, yeah, I might be coming down with something. I don't know."

"Aw." Joe gives him a sympathetic look. (He wouldn't be sympathetic if he knew what was really going on.) "If you ever need me to come over with chicken noodle soup and moral support, just shoot me a text."

"I will," Patrick assures him, appreciating the sentiment in theory, but never planning on putting it to the test. Also, the idea of chicken noodle soup is suddenly very unappetizing and somewhat similar to cannibalism. Uh, so, that's something. 

Joe starts off on a rant about his annoying coworker, and Patrick lets him, nodding and saying, "Wow, that's shitty" in all the right places. But his mind is elsewhere. He's still trying to answer some of his own questions. Like, what is he supposed to do now? How can he keep this secret forever? Can he reverse this? And fuck, what does this make him? Because "bird person" sounds kind of weird. 

"Patrick?"

"Hm?" Patrick is startled from his thoughts by Joe, who is now giving him a concerned look. 

"I was just saying I need to go. I have work in ten minutes. I'm sorry this date was so short."

"Oh!" Patrick doesn't say that he's thankful for the opportunity to leave - he feels kinda shitty about it. "Go ahead! It's alright."

"Alright." Joe stands up, and Patrick follows suit. Joe leans over to him and presses a quick kiss to his lips, then says, "Love you."

"Love you too," Patrick responds with a smile. 

Joe walks out and waves after him. Patrick is torn between wishing they had time for a longer date and being glad he can go home and freak out properly. 

The first thing Patrick does when he gets home is rip off the sheet that he was using in his attempt to bind his wings, which have started to cramp horribly. He hopes he can find some other way to hide them, because that shit hurts. 

The second thing he does is - because he's genuinely intrigued - try to figure out how loud his voice can get before it becomes bird noises. He finds out that he has to legitimately scream to get out the squawk he had made before, which is an odd mix of relieving and frightening. When it happens, it pisses him off. He doesn't like that. He doesn't like that he's even capable of that. He shouldn't be able to make that sound. (He's sure his neighbors are very concerned by the loud noise of what sounds for all the world like a crow being tortured.) 

Patrick is starting to get - well, pretty fucking freaked out. There are wings on his back and bird noises coming out of his mouth and he isn't sure what to do now. 

He decides to settle for the most calming thing he can think of - microwave meals and TV. 

He's been a bit concerned on the topic of food since the revelation that he now very much thinks of eating chicken noodle soup as cannibalistic, and he isn't sure that anything is going to seem appetizing to him anymore, but the frozen ravioli he finds in his fridge looks as good to him as possibly expired frozen ravioli will ever look. 

He heats it up and spends the two minutes it takes staring listlessly at the spinning microwave tray, lost in thought. 

When his food's done, he pulls it out, grabs a fork, and goes to sit on the couch, hoping television will at the very least calm him down a little. 

This doesn't turn out to be the case. 

The TV turns on to the nature channel, because Patrick had been watching a documentary about snakes last time he had the TV on (which, as it had turned out, had been pretty interesting). And this probably wouldn't be a problem if the channel wasn't currently showing a documentary that accosted Patrick with a clip of a falcon diving towards the camera. 

Patrick lets out the most undignified squawk yet and rushes to turn the TV off. He's suddenly shaking with fear, and it takes a moment for him to realize he just got scared by a bird on television. 

Patrick wants to say that it makes no sense to him, but it does. Some part of him is convinced that the falcon was going to attack him - some part of him that was relying more on bird logic than human logic. 

Patrick is forced to seriously consider that this whole "part bird" mess might not just be physical. 

"Fuck me," he breathes out, gritting his teeth. So no TV, then. He sits on the couch and stuffs his ravioli into his mouth in silence instead, which doesn't help nearly as much as he's sure some sort of comedy show would have. It especially doesn't help that he's still shaken, and that annoying part of him won't stop insisting that the falcon was a real enemy. As much as in his logical mind - his _human_ mind, thank you very much - he knows that the falcon was just on the screen, and even in reality he's too large for it to go after him, another part of his mind just _doesn't_. It's kind of scary, actually. 

Patrick throws away the container the microwave ravioli had come in, and finding himself with nothing else to do, decides to force himself to do some research. 

A quick google tells him that, yes, falcons absolutely do eat smaller birds - which, while not technically including him, includes him. So naturally, that's where the instinctual fear comes from. 

Another quick search unhelpfully informs him of the long list of small birds' predators - a list which includes such unavoidable animals as dogs and cats. Patrick hopes that he isn't going to have that fearful reaction to every animal on this list, but he also knows it's pretty likely. 

Really, why does this have to be so hard? Why did he have to run over that pigeon?

Now finding himself less annoyed and more genuinely curious, Patrick looks up a bird guide. He remembers wondering what he is - and if he's not going to find a better term on the "bird person" front, at the very least he can figure out what kind of bird he's even supposed to be. 

He finds the answer pretty quickly - his light brown wings match up exactly with those of a finch. So, well, that's that question out of the way, he supposes. 

That leads him to an unnecessary amount of research about finches - to be fair, in the face of a problem such as this one, his instinct is to drown his worries in knowledge. He actually tends to face most every problem by heavily researching the topic - and this is no different. Well, it's very different, but still. 

In a bout of curiosity spurred by the chicken noodle soup issue, Patrick tries to find out what exactly finches eat. Apparently, the answer is grass and seeds, and while Patrick is very happily able to say that grass still sounds wholly unappetizing to him, he actually thinks that - _no_. 

"No, no, no. I do _not_ find the idea of birdseed appetizing," he informs his empty house. (He's really only trying to convince himself.) "I do not!"

He quickly pushes the concept away and goes back to his assorted other research instead, distracting himself with more random facts he doesn't really need to know. 

He only realizes how late it is when he looks up to find that the clock reads 7 PM. One bowl of reheated spaghetti and a load of thanking the universe that most normal foods still seem great to him later, he finds himself tired and ready for bed. It's been a long day. Why wouldn't he be tired?

Patrick climbs into his bed, only getting a little frustrated when he has to try sleeping in twenty different positions to find one that won't hurt his wings, and promptly falls asleep. 

///

Over the next couple weeks, Patrick sort of learns to deal with...whatever this is. 

He doesn't yell or scream, especially when he's out, because the second he lets a distinctly nonhuman noise out of his mouth is the second people notice something's up. He never finds a better way to hide his wings than to bind them, so he keeps doing that whenever he goes out, simply ignoring how much it hurts. He stays away from the nature documentary channel, fearing that it will show another predator that will terrify the bit of him that isn't quite human. He also avoids such things in public - he has a close call when a dog barks at him while walking down the street, but he manages to choke back the loud noise that he almost makes. 

The one real problem that arises is one he didn't see coming at all. 

The thing is, some days it's like...he's just more _bird_ than he usually is. It seems like one day every week or two his mind slides closer to "finch" than "person" - and it's kind of annoying. Days like this, he catches himself doing more and more birdlike things - he gives in to the weird craving for seed and finds himself stealing a little from the bird feeder that hangs on a tree in his yard (and also finds himself definitely not hating it), and one time he ends up making a nest out of his sheets. But arguably the most notable part of these days is he sort of loses his ability to communicate whatsoever - any attempt to speak instead comes out as soft chirping. 

The first time a day like this comes, it sort of freaks Patrick out - mostly because he'd first taken his sudden inability to speak as evidence this is getting worse. Of course, the fact that he spent the whole day acting pretty fucking birdlike against his will didn't make him feel any better. But he'd woken up the next day back to normal - or at least, as close to normal as he can get anymore - and he'd realized it wasn't permanent. 

He's sort of accepted that these days happen. To make himself feel better, he thinks of it like this - his mind is always just a little bit bird, and that little bit is constantly trying to override his much stronger human impulses. Sometimes that little bit just needs a day to work itself out, to do what it wants, or otherwise all of his mind would probably end up much worse off than just being a tiny bit bird-y. After Patrick thinks up this explanation, he even starts to stop trying to go against himself on those days, because he figures that it does a lot less damage to let himself maybe eat some seeds than it does to try to go against his instincts entirely. 

Patrick only sees Joe once in these couple weeks - another brief coffee date - and he's reluctantly thankful for the chance to work his shit out alone. He even considers telling Joe - he's going to have to at some point, isn't he? But he decides he's not quite ready. He needs a bit of time to finish adjusting to this himself before he tries explaining this to his boyfriend. 

Unfortunately, in the end, he doesn't get a choice. 

Not only does Joe show up at his door without warning and without giving time for Patrick to even hide his wings, he shows up like this on one of _those_ days. 

Patrick is curled up in a mini-nest of blankets and pillows on the couch, with a bowl of seed (which he'd given in and just bought a huge bag of, because if he's honest he finds it delicious even when it's not a day like this) perched on his lap and the classical music channel on TV. For some reason, that bird bit of Patrick's mind _loves_ the classical music channel. He doesn't know why, but on days like this it makes him feel happy, so of course he's going to watch it. 

Then someone knocks on the door, and Patrick jumps a little in surprise. People have knocked before on these days - usually just solicitors - and he's always just refused to answer the door. It's worked out pretty well so far. 

But then he hears Joe's voice. 

"Patrick, hey, I know you're home! I'm off work today, I thought I'd come by and surprise you!"

Patrick's eyes go wide, and he instinctually curls in on himself, pulling his legs tight against himself and hiding behind them. He still stares at the door over the tops of his knees.

"Babe? Is everything okay in there?"

Patrick can't respond - he literally can't. If he tries to call out that he's alright, all that will come out right now is chirps. He wishes Joe had come on any other day - any other day at all!

"Patrick, are you alright? Shit, I'll use the spare key. Are you okay?" Joe's voice has picked up a distinctly worried tone. 

Patrick curls in further. His bowl is digging into his stomach where it's still sitting in his lap, but he doesn't care. 

Now, if he's honest, Patrick's mind isn't always... _fully functioning_ on days like this, which is to say, it's definitely working more on a bird level than it is on a human level. But it's damn well functioning enough to inform him that this is _bad_. 

He can't do anything to stop disaster as he hears the door unlock and watches as Joe pushes it open. 

If this was any other day, Patrick would be making every effort to hide his wings, if nothing else. But since the bird bit of his mind is taking charge, what he really does is flare his wings out wider, trying to appear large and frightening to the potential predator that his mind is trying to imagine is there. But Joe isn't a predator, and all this really succeeds in doing is making sure that Joe finds out. 

"What the fuck?" Joe exclaims when he sees Patrick, mouth dropping open. 

Patrick would explain - he would, or at least he would try, but he can't speak right now. He can't tell Joe what's going on. This is - wow, this is actually the worst possible way for Joe to have found out about this. 

"Patrick?" Joe says warily, still staring at Patrick. Patrick curls up even tighter. 

Joe slowly steps forward, taking one stride at a time, then pausing. The closer he gets, the more Patrick's mind screams " _predator!_ " at him, and the tighter he tries to curl himself up. The predator isn't Joe, though - it's the fear of confrontation. 

Then Joe is only a foot in front of Patrick, a short distance away. He kneels down slowly, putting himself below Patrick's height, like you would do with a frightened animal - which is, actually, exactly the situation. 

"Uh, hey," Joe says, lowering his voice. He reaches a careful hand out and, ever so gently, places it on Patrick's knee. Patrick finds himself relaxing a tiny bit at the touch. Joe frowns. "What's going on?"

Patrick really wants to tell him, he does. In fact, he lets his guard down enough to try. But of course, all that escapes his lips is a couple weak chirps. 

"Um." Joe is still slowly edging himself closer. He takes his hand off Patrick's knee and lightly brushes his arm instead. "Babe, I - I have no idea what's happening, but whatever the fuck is going on, I still want to help, alright? Just give me something to go off of here."

All Patrick can do is offer him another chirp. 

Realization dawns on Joe's face. "You can't talk, can you?"

Patrick shakes his head pitifully. 

"Okay, uh, if I ask yes and no questions, can you nod or shake your head?" Joe suggests. He's brought himself right up to the edge of the couch, and starts to raise himself up again, slowly, as not to frighten Patrick. 

Patrick nods. 

"Okay. Alright." Joe sighs. "Uh...fuck. First question. You have wings."

Normally, Patrick would tell him hotly that that wasn't a question. Now, he just nods. 

"Okay, okay. Right. Obviously. Uh...whatever this is, has it happened before?"

Nod. 

"Alright, um...I can't ask what's going on, you can't tell me. Uh...let me figure this out. I can figure this out."

At this point, Joe has raised himself enough that he's still kneeling, but eye to eye with Patrick. He stares into Patrick's eyes. Patrick stares back. 

Suddenly, Joe notices the bowl still sitting in Patrick's lap. "Do you have...birdseed?"

Patrick can only give a slightly embarrassed nod. 

Joe's face is calculating. "Were you eating it?"

Reluctant nod. 

"Okay, shit, wait. Uh...this is gonna sound weird if I'm wrong but, are you...like...a bird?"

This isn't a complete yes, but it's certainly not a no. Patrick just shrugs. 

"Was that a kind of?" Joe asks. 

Nod. 

"Okay...uh...okay." Joe bites his lip. He's obviously trying to process that. Finally, he nods. "Okay then. Next question. Has this been going on a while?"

Patrick shrugs. 

"Okay, another kind of. Got it. Are you..." Joe's faces scrunches into a confused frown. "Are you always like this?"

Patrick shakes his head violently. 

"Okay, uh...are you usually not like this?"

Nod. 

Joe nods back. "Huh...okay. I'm gonna try not to freak on you here. Sorry. This is a bit much." He purses his lips. "Let me get this straight, then...you have wings, you're _kind of_ a bird, but only sometimes, and you usually aren't."

Patrick shrugs. It's close enough. 

"Do you always have the wings?" Joe asks, looking like this is the most important question to occur to him, ever. 

Nod. 

"Hey, hang on. Will you still...be like this tomorrow?"

Patrick shakes his head. 

"Okay." Joe sighs. "I'm going to make you explain this entirely to me tomorrow. But for now I kind of think I'm scaring you, and I don't want to do that." He looks right into Patrick's eyes again. "Do you want me to leave?"

If there's one thing Patrick is sure of, it's that he absolutely does not want that. He shakes his head wildly. 

"Okay." Joe moves a bit closer to Patrick, and then hesitates. "Do you need some space right now? Or is it okay if I sit next to you?"

Patrick can't answer both these questions with yes or no. Instead of a nod or head shake, he responds with a couple chirps that are supposed to sound friendly and lightly taps the spot on the couch next to his makeshift nest pile. 

"Cool." Joe pulls himself up all the way and sits down next to Patrick. 

Patrick folds his wings back in and starts nibbling on his snack again - he's too bird right now to really be embarrassed by it. He doesn't even care that Joe is watching him with unbridled curiosity. He's gotten over his fright - all he's picking up on right now is that Joe is acting positively, and right now this is enough to put his fear at rest. 

"Can I - I'm sorry, can I touch your wing?" Joe pipes up, wincing after he says it. "That's probably rude or something, I don't know, they just look really soft, and-"

Patrick cuts him off by extending the wing that's closest to Joe back out to him. Joe quiets and looks at it for a moment, then nervously reaches out to brush a hand against it. 

"Oh, wow," he says, in awe. 

Patrick makes a light chirp in response. 

"I don't know what you're trying to say to me, but I'm gonna hope it was something about how extremely attractive I am," Joe jokes, managing to push away the obvious confusion on his face for a moment, replacing it with a weak smile and a little bit of humor. 

Patrick isn't exactly in the proper state to exactly get that joke at the moment, so he looks to Joe and cocks his head to the side in confusion, but Joe takes it as a response in itself and laughs. 

"You're cute like this," he says, the corners of his mouth turning up. "I mean, don't get me wrong, you're always cute - but this is adorable."

Patrick absolutely gets this, and responds with an indignant chirp. 

"Sure. Whatever you said," Joe says, and leans over to gently rest his head on Patrick's shoulder. Patrick lets him. 

He continues to nibble at the seed as he feels Joe fall asleep against him. Soon, he follows suit himself. 

///

When Patrick wakes up it takes him a moment to remember what had happened yesterday - it always does, after the bird days, possibly in part because Patrick isn't quite _Patrick_ during those. But when it comes rushing back this time, he's met with much more embarrassing memories than just doing a couple birdlike things. (Which is what it usually is.)

"Oh god," he mutters, realizing Joe is still asleep against him. They've ended up cuddled together on top of his tiny makeshift nest, which isn't exactly optimal position. He peels himself out of Joe's embrace, stepping off the couch. "Oh god."

Joe stirs, blinks his eyes open, and turns to Patrick. He yawns. "G'morning."

Patrick tenses. "Uh, fuck."

Joe stretches his arms and pushes himself into a sitting position. "You're talking again. That's good."

"Listen, I'm really sorry about yesterday," Patrick says. His face is red with embarrassment - he can't believe he'd let Joe see him like that. 

"Don't be," Joe responds, yawning again, quieter this time. "I...I still don't exactly understand what's happening and I'd appreciate an explanation, but it's not like I'm upset with you or anything."

Patrick blinks. Well, this is a start. "I can give you an explanation," he offers. 

"Alright. Shoot." Joe nods. 

"So, uh," Patrick starts, "really what happened was...I ran over a pigeon and an old lady appeared to curse me."

"You're kidding." Joe's eyes widen in some mix of disbelief and amusement. 

"No, I'm not." Patrick sighs. "Since then, I - well, I always have the wings, and I'm always a _little bit_ \- well, uh. Let me put it like this. It's like...if you drew a line, right? And one end is bird and the other is person. And I'm usually hanging pretty close to person, with just a _tiny_ bit of bird, really. But once a week or so I'll have a day where it's like someone's shoved me down to the midway point of the line. Sometimes a little further. It's just...it just happens."

He looks at Joe nervously, hoping Joe isn't about to suddenly decide to stop being so calm about this. Joe just sits there for a moment, processing, then says, "Okay. That makes sense. In a weird sort of way."

"You don't...you don't, like, hate me or anything?" Patrick asks, relief flooding him as Joe shakes his head. 

"Of course not!" he says. "This obviously isn't something you can control, and it's not my business to hate you over something like that." He grins and adds, "And besides, you were _adorable_ yesterday."

"Shut up," Patrick mumbles. He's trying to seem annoyed, but he can't stop himself from grinning back. 

"Uh, while I'm thinking to ask, is there anything else I should know?" Joe asks. "Like, is there anything I can do to avoid making you uncomfortable? And is there anything you'd need when you're - when you're like you were yesterday?"

"Uh..." Patrick considers everything he knows, and then rattles off, "Falcons, dogs, and cats freak me out because I can't stop myself from seeing them as predators. People talking about eating chicken makes me feel sick because it feels like cannibalism to me. I actually eat birdseed a lot because I find it really good, honestly, so don't laugh at me about that, I'm ashamed enough as it is. And as for days like yesterday...generally what I do is exactly what I was doing yesterday. I end up building some kind of nest, put on classical music, and do nothing most of the day. Loud noises scare me. I can't talk, but you knew that already. Like I mentioned before, some of those days are worse than others. My brain isn't always running full power, either, so if I seem out of it, just do your best to roll with it, I guess. I...I think that's all."

"Do you want me to leave you alone on those days, or...?" Joe inquires.

"Oh, god no!" Patrick shakes his head. "I, um...actually really liked having you there."

"Alright," Joe says, nodding. "Noted."

"You're...really okay with this?" Patrick asks. 

Joe stands up. "Of course I am, babe. I love you, okay? And this is definitely not going to change that."

"Thank you," Patrick mutters, relieved. 

Joe steps forward and pulls him into hug, which is sort of awkward because it takes a moment for him to work out how to get his arms around Patrick's wings, but it still makes Patrick feel better. 

"Patrick, you mean the world to me," Joe murmurs, hugging Patrick tighter. "I really don't give a fuck about your bird shit."

Patrick thinks that is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to him. 

///

They work it out - which basically is to say, Joe moves into Patrick's house. It's just easier that way; they were going to move in together at some point, anyway, and Patrick appreciates having Joe around on the days he's a bit more of a bird than usual. The company makes him more comfortable. 

Joe never says a single bad thing about Patrick's "bird thing", as he often refers to it, and in fact he becomes amazingly helpful when it comes to it. He starts making it his business to come up with alternate recipes using birdseed so Patrick can at least feel a little more normal about the fact he likes the stuff. Patrick's favorite are little balls of seed and honey that he thinks taste like the world's greatest candy. Joe also takes to calling him "budgie" in place of "babe". Patrick tries to fight off the nickname ("I'm not even a budgie! I'm a finch!" "Yeah, well, that doesn't sound quite as cute."), but he has to admit he finds it a little bit cute. Just a little. 

Most mornings, Patrick wakes up with Joe in his arms and his wings wrapped protectively around the two of them. And, in these moments, sometimes he feels a little bit - just a little bit! - thankful that he'd hit the pigeon.

**Author's Note:**

> told you it was weird 
> 
> anyways as always, hmu with ideas or prompts of headcanons (anyone who comes up with a cute headcanon for this AU gets a cookie. angsty headcanons get two cookies and twenty two cents.) on my tumblr, vicesandvelociraptors. 
> 
> and I loooove comments !!! seriously! comment if you liked it fuckers it makes my day 
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
